


Between Friends

by Shaddyr



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-01
Updated: 2008-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:25:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddyr/pseuds/Shaddyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aww, c'mon doc," Mitchell cajoled, giving him a friendly slap on the back. "What's a little blow job between friends?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Vaguely SGA 3nd season-ish. Could be slotted in there somewhere.   
> Thanks to for cheering me on and for great ideas, feedback and beta reading. All mistakes remain my own as I always go back and tweak more after the beta fixes my mistakes....

McKay awoke with a start. For a split second, he panicked at the unfamiliar surroundings, but then his brain jerked into gear. This was his apartment - on Earth, in Colorado.

He blinked a couple times, then lifted his face from his pillow to cast a bleary gaze around the room. He was sprawled out in his bed, still in last night's clothing with a fuzzy tongue and a mouth that tasted like something many days dead. He *hated* it when he fell asleep without brushing his teeth. A persistent ache was developing behind his right eye, and he groaned as he tried to recall just what the hell he'd been doing last night. He caught an unexpected movement at the edge of his vision, and froze.

Turning his head, he discovered a tuft of dark hair peeking out from the blanket beside him. Sheppard. McKay would have recognized that gravity-defying, non-regulation mop anywhere. It was a bit disconcerting to find the Colonel smushed right up against him, but the warmth of the other man's body along his own was disturbingly comfortable, and it was tempting to let his head drop to his pillow and go back to sleep. Instead, he tried to roll away, but was stopped by two things.

Sheppard's hand was down the back of his pants, his fingers splayed open over one ass cheek. More unsettling than that was discovering his own hand was down the *front* of Sheppard's pants, apparently getting intimately acquainted with the Colonel's morning wood.

As he stared down at his unexpected bedmate, fragmented memories from the previous night's adventures drifted before his eyes. There had been an awful lot of alcohol involved, he remembered that much. And Colonel Mitchell. McKay knew that *somehow* he was responsible. He was just having a hard time remembering exactly how.

Right about then, hell's own hangover kicked him in the head with steel toed jackboots, and all he could think about was how to prevent his brain from leaking out his ears.

 

_**18 hours earlier**_

 

"Hey, Sheppard."

Rodney glanced up from packing his presentation materials to see Colonel Mitchell slip into the briefing room. The last of the IOA delegates had finally wandered off after the exhausting Dog and Pony show.

"Mitchell," Sheppard replied by way of both greeting and inquiry. John had never been a man to waste words.

"I heard you guys were in town for a few days. Looks like you're done with the grilling here. You wanna go grab a beer?"

McKay closed his folder with a quiet sigh. He'd been planning to ask Sheppard if he wanted to escape the SGC and crash at his apartment for the night. Order pizza, watch crap on TV, drink beer - do guy stuff. Now that he had a better offer, that wasn't going to be happening.

He was just resigning himself to staying on base and reviewing personnel files when he heard John's reply.

"Yeah, sounds good. Rodney and I'll finish up here and meet you topside in 20."

He fumbled and almost dropped his tablet, then looked up sharply. Sheppard's attention was fixed on his own papers. Mitchell just gave Rodney the once over and then shrugged.

"Sure." With that, he was gone.

McKay cleared his throat, and Sheppard looked up inquisitively. "Do you really want me to come along?"

"Do I want...?" Sheppard looked surprised. "Oh, sorry, Rodney. I should have asked if you wanted to come." As McKay watched, the look morphed into something else, part chagrin and if he didn't know better, he'd have to call it disappointment. "I just assumed you were as sick of being stuck in the mountain as I am and you'd want to get out. You already have plans?"

"Yes. Err, no. I mean, yeah I have things I should do, but -" Rodney stumbled, trying to explain. He gave up, and smiled at Sheppard. "It's not important. Let's get out of here."

 

***

They were surrounded by flashing lights and noise, and something that passed for music was blaring through the speakers. They'd found a table far away from the dance floor and they were jostled by the press of bodies moving around them in the bar.

McKay was not impressed. "Explain to me, again, why did we had to come *here*?"

Mitchell just laughed. "I already told you. College club on a Wednesday. It's cheap shooter night." He slammed back his last tequila shot. "Your turn, doc."

"Like I can't afford to pay premium prices to go somewhere with a little class," McKay grumbled.

Sheppard gave Mitchell a knowing look and leaned over as if to whisper confidentially to McKay. "It has nothing to do with the shooters. He's here for the scenery."

Mitchell flipped him off as he took a swig of his beer. "If there happens to be a little something to look at while I'm drinking my shooters, well, that's just a bonus."

McKay rolled his eyes and stared at the row of shot glasses in front of him. The ones he had somehow allowed Colonel Cameron Fucking Mitchell of all people, dare him into drinking. As if they were in grade school competing over who could eat the most hot dogs.

Well, he always *had* been the one who could eat the most hot dogs. Not that he had anything to prove, but he wasn't about to let some overly cheerful, *citrus wielding* flyboy accuse him of wussing out. And it had nothing at all to do with being shown up in front a certain other Air Force Colonel.

"You don't have to do this ya know."

Sheppard sat there, casually leaning on one elbow against the narrow table they claimed. He was the picture of nonchalance, a guy hanging out with his buddies for drinks at the bar, but Rodney knew him well enough to see beneath the facade. There was coiled tension in his body, the same tension he displayed in an unknown situation when he stood ready to leap to his team's defence at any moment. There was a hidden awareness in those half-lidded eyes that missed nothing going on around him. Sheppard wasn't one to unwind easily and in McKay's estimation, Sheppard seriously needed to get drunk. Or laid. Both if possible.

He rolled his eyes again. "It's only a couple of shots, Colonel. I'm not a total lightweight!" he snarked, not really rankled by Sheppard's overprotective streak, but arguing the point because it was what he did. What they did.

Sheppard picked up his beer and shook his head. "I'm not carrying you home, McKay," he warned as he took a swig of his Pilsner.

Rodney shifted his attention back to his shooters. Unlike the tequila shots Mitchell had knocked back, these were made mostly of liqueurs. He figured they weren't as potent as the tequila had been, but they could still be dangerous. He eyed them warily.

"None of these have any sort of citrus in them, do they?" he demanded.

"C'mon, doc," Mitchell replied, shaking his head. "I know better than that. 100% citrus free." The SG1 leader crossed his arms and cocked his head over to one side. "I drank mine. You're not wimping out on me now, are you?"

McKay scowled up at him. "I'm just taking the very reasonable precaution of insuring I'm not about to drink something that will kill me. You wouldn't be the first person who forgot."

Mitchell just smirked."Whatever. You in or out?"

"I'm warning you, Cam." Sheppard gave Mitchell a significant look. "You get him get him drunk-" he pointed McKay's direction with his beer bottle - "and *you'll* be the one dealing with the aftermath." Sheppard cocked an eyebrow, a smile playing about his lips. "I've seen what he's like after one too many mugs of the local moonshine-"

"Hey!" McKay objected. "That was totally not *my* fault. The Tellani didn't bother to tell us that stuff was alcoholic until I'd already had three mugs! I was thirsty and it was *hot*!"

Sheppard took another long pull on his beer, impervious to McKay's scowl. Rodney turned his attention back to the shooters. He could do this. As he reached out to pick up the first one, Mitchell stopped him.

"No, no, no," Mitchell admonished, batting his hand away from the shot glass."You gotta drink it the traditional way."

McKay took in the smarmy grin and his eyes narrowed. "And how does one drink a shot in the traditional way?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Not every shot," Mitchell assured him. "Just this one," he said indicating the two toned shot with the whipped cream on the top. "That one's special. No hands allowed."

"So I pick it up how, with the power of my mind?"

He caught Sheppard struggling to hide his grin and realized the Colonel knew something he didn't, and he wasn't going to like it. Then Mitchell's grin ratchet from smarmy up to fully evil.

"This," explained Mitchell, "Is a [Blow Job](http://cocktails.about.com/od/cocktailrecipes/r/blw_job_shtr.htm) shooter." Rodney's eyes grew wide and he felt the prickly heat crawling up his face to the tips of his ears. He knew he was glowing bright red as Mitchell continued. "First, clasp your hands behind your back. Next, you wrap your lips around the rim of the shot glass. Then you toss the whole thing back - and like any good blow job, it ends with a swallow."

McKay slowly turned his head to look at Sheppard, who had given up all pretence of hiding and was actively snickering. "Shut up. Asshole."

"Aww, c'mon doc," Mitchell cajoled, giving him a friendly slap on the back. "What's a little blow job between friends?"

He spluttered incoherently for a moment while Sheppard completely lost it, bracing both hands against the table, his whole body shaking with glee as he brayed his stupid donkey laugh.

He thought about saying something. Ripping a strip off both of them. But he would still have the shooters sitting there at the end of it, so he contented himself with knowing that he was going to make them pay at some future point - oh yes, they would pay dearly for this - and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Now just wrap your lips around-"

"Yes, yes, I think I can grasp the basic dynamics of a blow job, thank you very much, Colonel," he snapped, cutting Mitchell off. "I've been on the receiving end before and I am quite capable of extrapolation. Scientist and all that."

He leaned over and took the glass in his lips. Carefully straightening back up, McKay tossed his head back with a quick flip and swallowed. Mitchell gave him a "Woot!" as Rodney grabbed the glass from his mouth. "Way to go, McKay!"

He studied the other man for a moment and abruptly realized that Mitchell was not mocking him or playing 'torment the geeky scientist'. He was treating him like he was just one of the guys. And the Guy Code demanded that guys occasionally publicly humiliate each other in front of their friends.

A little bit of the liqueur and cream had dribbled from the corner of his mouth down his chin, and he wiped it away with his fingers. He brought them to his mouth to suck the whip cream off when he caught Sheppard's eyes. The other man was watching him, and the intensity of the stare stopped him in his tracks, fingers still in his mouth, frozen like a deer in headlights. A few moments later, Sheppard's gaze flicked away.

It wasn't the first time he'd caught Sheppard staring at him like that, but usually it happened when they were off world in a potentially hostile situation. He expected it then, it was even reassuring. He didn't know what to make of it now. Did Sheppard think he had to watch him like a hawk, that he couldn't be trusted to have a few drinks in a bar on Earth without doing something stupid? It was one thing on a mission when he was distracted with fixing ancient tech or looking for energy readings, but this was a little ridiculous. To his surprise, he realized he felt hurt that his _best friend_ didn't trust him *not* to act like an idiot. And that Mitchell, who didn't know him at all, did.

He turned back to Mitchell. "So," he challenged. "What's now?"

The other man grinned as he pushed the next shot toward McKay. "Well, after a Blow Job, I think it only makes sense to have an [Orgasm](http://cocktails.about.com/od/cocktailrecipes/r/orgsm_shtr.htm), don't you?"

He sighed. It figured. "Any rules about how this must be consumed? Jumping on one foot? Standing on my head?"

"Nope," Mitchell replied with a smile. "Just toss it back and enjoy."

"Fine." He picked up the glass and sniffed it, then downed it in one swallow. The sweet liqueurs burned a little going down, making him cough, but he'd like it.

"Is there coffee liqueur in that?" he inquired.

"Yeah, among other things. Here's the next one."

McKay accepted the drink, then gave Mitchell a questioning look while pointing to the glass with his other hand. "And now I'm drinking...?"

"That is a [Cowboy Cocksucker](http://www.idrink.com/v.html?id=6761) ."

He let out a huff. "There seems to be a theme going on here."

"Maybe," Mitchell agreed with a smirk.

"Are there any shooters on the menu that *don't* have sexual connotations?"

"Aww, where's the fun in that, Doc?" Mitchell teased. He looked over at Sheppard, waiting till he tipped his bottle back to take a drink. "C'mon, You'll like it - everyone likes a good Cocksucker, right Sheppard?"

Timing was everything. Sheppard made a choking noise and just barely held back from spraying beer all over the table. McKay had to respect a man who could embarrass two people at once with such finesse.

Speaking of embarrassment, Sheppard was going to haze him over this for _weeks_. And then Ronon would ask, and then his life would turn into a new and unique ring of hell. Wonderful. "Don't you think this one should have come _before_ the blow job?" he quipped as he tossed the shooter back. Mmm, butterscotch.

He slammed the glass back on the bar, a little harder than he meant to, then looked up to discover Mitchell staring at him. After a moment, Cam burst into laughter, and McKay found himself drawn in, chuckling at the display.

"You're alright, McKay," Mitchell informed him with a hearty slap on the shoulder, and whoa, he found himself staggered, nearly knocked off his chair. He had to stifle a giggle.

"Yes. Yes, I am actually." He was more relaxed than he'd been in a while, and okay, maybe the shooters in conjunction with the 2 beer s were affecting him a little more than he wanted to admit, which was the only explanation he had for the next thing that came out of his mouth. "It seems like a night for sacrificing brain cells. So what do you think, Mitchell? You up for three more?" he dared, feeling inordinately pleased within himself over the jaw-drop response he elicited. Mitchell and Sheppard shared a look. When they turned back to McKay, Cam was grinning, but John looked a little perturbed.

"You're on, doc," Mitchell declared. "I'll go grab us another round." He was over at the bar in a flash, yelling his order at the bartender, and wow, it was loud in here, and it occurred to McKay that he should have told Mitchell no more Blow Job shooters, but it was too late now-

"Hey Rodney," Sheppard piped in. "Do you want me to get you a coffee?"

McKay blinked. "Um." He thought about it. "Huh. That's not a bad idea."

"Aww, Sheppard!" Mitchell was back, a waitress in tow with a tray full of shooters. "That just defeats the whole purpose!" he protested as the shooter girl lined up three tequila shots in front of him and three more liqueur shooters in front of McKay. "He's gotta drink the shooters first. *Then* he can have coffee."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Cam. We don't really drink a lot on... where we're stationed, so, you know, our alcohol tolerance isn't what it was."

Meaning that John thought a couple of shooters were going to knock him on his ass. McKay's face screwed up into a scowl of deep displeasure.

"I'm *fine*, Colonel," he snapped, ignoring the niggling feeling that maybe he really should have that coffee. "I haven't needed babysitting since I was 8 years old, thank you very much." He pointed a finger at Mitchell. "We're drinking these ones at the same time." He nodded and McKay reached out to pick up his first shooter. "Okay, what's this?"

Cam's eyes were dancing with mirth. "What you have here, doc, is a sweet little shooter called Throw Me Down and Fuck me."

McKay studied the innocuous looking drink for a moment. "What I really need," he spoke slowly, "is for a _woman_ to buy this shooter for me. Or, hey, I could totally send one of these to someone. Like, uhm..." he glanced around, trying to spot a likely candidate. There were a lot of girls around. Girls in little scraps of dresses with curves in all the right places. Really hot girls who were slightly out of focus and probably 19 years old and no doubt in the bar with fake ID and just thinking about that made him feel like a dirty old man.

"Oh, whatever," he griped as he picked up his shooter. "This bar is full of people half my age, it's not like I really want to try to score with some ditzy college co-ed who doesn't even know what differential calculus is."

Mitchell sprinkled some salt on the side of his hand and licked it off, then picked up one of his shots and clinked it against McKay's. "Bottoms up," he said with a grin, and the two of them tossed their drinks back.

McKay carefully set the glass down. He grimaced with distaste as the Colonel followed his shot with a wedge of lime. They both picked up the next drink.

"Ready?"

"Yup," he replied, popping the 'p', then going on to making the popping sound a few more times.

"Your next shot," intoned Mitchell, and McKay could tell by the way the other man was carefully enunciating every syllable he was totally *not* the only one getting inebriated here, "is a something they like to call [Finger Me Good](http://www.drinkrecipesbook.com/drink-recipe-steps-6923-finger-me-good-recipe.html). "

McKay considered that. "Huh. I s'pose it logically follows."

Rodney ran his tongue over his lips as he looked at his shooter. They felt a little funny, a little numb, and there was still a hint of sweetness on them from the previous shooter. He glanced up to find Sheppard staring at him again. The stare was positively incendiary, and what the *hell* was Sheppard's problem anyway? He locked eyes with him and stared right back.

"Is there something you want, Colonel?" he asked, aiming for a steely voice, but he missed the mark by a long shot. Even he could hear the plaintive, confused quality of the question. Dammit! He was trying to have a good time here, and Sheppard was pissing him off.

Sheppard just took a pull of his beer and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He lifted his bottle in a toast. "No, I'm good. Just keeping an eye on you, McKay. As your team leader and friend."

And like that, all the pissiness evaporated as McKay felt a rush of warm and fuzzy feelings toward Sheppard, because hey, he really wasn't trying to be a dick, even if he had been acting like he didn't trust Rodney to tie his own shoelaces, he was just trying to be a friend, and hey, friends don't let friends drive Puddlejumpers drunk-

Rodney snickered. It suddenly seemed really important to tell Sheppard about this new revelation. He leaned across the table toward Sheppard, motioning him to come closer. "Y'know, you're not an asshole after all!" he announced, reaching over to pat Sheppard's arm.

"Gee, thanks Rodney," came the sardonic rejoinder.

"Erm. That didn't quite come out right," Rodney waved his hand as he backpedaled. "It's just, well, what I mean to say is-" he groaned. "Look. I know you're just watching my six." He nodded decisively. "So. Thanks."

He couldn't quite decipher the look Sheppard gave him. "Anytime, buddy."

"Even if you are acting like a mother hen."

Sheppard casually reached out and smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!"

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "If the two of you are finished with the best friends forever declarations, could we get back to the drinking here?"

McKay nodded in agreement, then abruptly gripped the table with both hands. Whoa, spinning room. He gingerly picked up his second shooter. He watched Cam do the salt thing and then they both tipped back and drank. He went to put the shot glass back on the table and missed, almost pitching sideways off his barstool as he over balanced. Sheppard's arm shot out across the table, caught him before he hit the floor, dragging him back into his seat.

Rodney beamed across the table at him. "Thanks, Sheppard."

Mitchell chuckled, but Sheppard let out a sigh.

"Okay, buddy, that's it. You're cut off," he announced, pushing the final shot away.

"Hey!" McKay objected, and reached out to snag it off the table. All he succeeded in doing was almost falling off his stool again. This time, he caught himself, and settled back onto his seat. He looked across the table at Sheppard who was giving him the completely blank 'evil-hordes-of-Genii-can't-break-me' look. "Holy shit!" McKay burst out. "Is that O'Neill?" he demanded, pointing over Sheppard's shoulder.

Sheppard and Mitchell both paled, casting glances over their respective shoulders while McKay swooped in (carefully, slowly, don't fall over now) and snatched victory from under Sheppard's watchful eye.

"HA!" he crowed gleefully. "Fooled ya!" He continued to cackle as they turned back to him, an undignified snort slipping out, which left him laughing even harder.

"What are you, 12?" demanded Sheppard, reaching out to try and snag the shooter away. McKay managed to hold onto it by virtue of grabbing it and holding it back away from the table, out of the other man's reach.

"S'my drink. Getcher own!"

Mitchell completely cracked up, then lifted his last tequila shot to toast McKay. "Sheppard, why didn't you let on McKay had a crazy streak under that arrogant, uptight, overbearing persona?"

McKay clicked his shooter against Cam's and then leaned forward. "Hey! Thasnot a persona. I'm arrogant. S'true. But I'm smart, an'm usually right, so s'okay. I can afford ta be arrogant." He was the very essence of smug.

"Don't forget uptight," muttered Sheppard darkly, glaring at him.

McKay shrugged. "Yeah, kay. Sometimes. Not ri' now." He focused on his drink, slightly cross eyed as he tried to bring it in to focus. "Kay. Last one. What'm I drinkin' now?"

"That's a [Screamin' Orgasm](http://www.idrink.com/v.html?id=5843) . Figure ya kinda deserve it after the throw down and fingerin'."

As McKay downed his shot, he spared an idle thought to wonder if all the sex themed shooters ever really worked in getting a person laid. It might bear further investigation - sometime in the future, when he wasn't drunk off his ass.

***

McKay had turned away from the table to lean his forearms on the rail behind him. Folding them one atop the other, he hooked his chin over his wrist as he watched the pool game below, tracking the statuesque blond as she circled the table to line up her shot. His cock took a keen interest in the curve of her ass, just barely covered by the black mini skirt as she bent over the table's edge, and his eyes followed the path down the pale, creamy skin of legs that seemed to go on for miles. She gave the 8 ball an expert tap, and he let out a sigh, missing the view as she stood up and turned to speak to the other player. He shifted his gaze back to the table in time to watch the green ball go down the center side while the cue ball careened down to the end of the table.

"Five in the corner pocket." The other player's voice drifted up to him, and almost without thought, he began to calculate the direction of the force required to spin the cue ball around the obstacles in its way and send the five ball into the corner pocket without sinking the cue ball as well. Given the ball had a mass of approximately 0.35kg, he would need to hit it with enough force to reach a velocity of 5.0 ms-1, and apply enough English to torque the spin; using a vector equation of p(final) - p(initial), the vector triangle would look like-

His train of thought was abruptly derailed as the dark haired player bent over the table to figure out the best angle for his shot, stretching out so that his shirt rode up. McKay's eye followed the graceful expanse of smooth skin to where it was interrupted by the waist band of low riding jeans. His mouth went dry as he took in the very male ass on display directly before him. His cock informed him that it was every bit as pleased with staring at this ass as it had been with the mini skirt clad one a few moments earlier.

Well, that was an interesting, albeit unexpected development. As he continued to watch - he was a scientist after all, and data collection was important - the blond walked around the table to stand beside the guy as he was lining up. Her hand lighted on his upper back, then slid down, following the dip of his spine to slide her fingers under his waistband.

McKay swallowed hard, transfixed by the tableau before him. He watched the guy drop his pool cue, head falling forward as he braced himself against the pool table with both hands. The woman whispered in his ear, and the hand reappeared, now skimming in a circular motion over each ass cheek, squeezing and caressing, before finally, *finally*, sliding lower still, down between his legs and forward to cup him.

McKay moaned low in his throat, so hard it hurt, and it was disturbing because he wasn't sure if it was the thought of someone touching _him_ like that or the thought of _him_ touching someone else that was more of a turn on. All he knew was that if he had to move anytime soon, it was going to be very embarrassing.

"Seriously, Cam. I think that you should let me call you a cab." Sheppard's voice broke through the fog of lust McKay was lost in. It took a minute, but he finally clued in that the Colonel was being the responsible one and trying to get them home.

"Naw, 'm fine," insisted Mitchell. "I'll hang out here for a while longer, then I'll call a cab." He had a lazy smile, and looked perfectly content, if a little tipsy. "I still want to shoot some pool, and it looks like it's almost my turn. You sure that you and McKay gotta go?"

He looked over his shoulder at Sheppard and saw the other man worrying his lip. Rodney was pretty sure that Sheppard would probably enjoy playing a game or two with Mitchell, and if they were going to play over here, where he could watch them... McKay felt his face flush as he thought about Sheppard stretched out across the pool table, straining to make a shot.

He turned to face them. Or rather, he tried to. In spite of the 2 cups of coffee he'd had at Sheppard's insistence, he spun around a little too fast. The combination of alcohol and gravity was proving to be too much for him. Sheppard saved him from toppling to the floor in an undignified heap. Again.

John's hands were wrapped around his upper arms, holding him securely. McKay looked straight up into concerned hazel eyes, surprised to see they regarded him without a trace of rancour. Sheppard studied him for a moment, then he smiled and shook his head. "Yup, Cam. I'm sure. See you tomorrow."

"Hey, wait," he tried to protest, but Sheppard already slipped in and wrapped an arm around him, steering him toward the door. "We can stay. M'okay. You can play - hey, that rhymes!"

Sheppard looked at him askance. "Yeah, sure you are." They continued out the door into the brisk evening air. "It's time for drunk astrophysicists to get to bed," the colonel informed him as they reached the car and Sheppard leaned him up against it before letting him go to open the passenger door and wrangle him inside.

McKay found himself wondering if Sheppard was going to tuck him in, and if the curve of his ass would be as firm as it looked. He knew these were not thoughts he should be entertaining about his _friend_, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from picturing Sheppard sprawled out in various poses, over a pool table, on the couch, in his bed... he closed his eyes as the images chased each other around in his brain, and everything gradually faded to black.

 

***

 

"C'mon, buddy. Just a few more steps." Sheppard's voice by his ear was soothing, and McKay leaned against him as they struggled up the stairs. He wasn't so much drunk as he was very tipsy, but his nap in the car had left him disoriented. It was really cold out, and he was tired, and Sheppard was so _warm_, and also he smelled really good, like musk and spice, and it was very tempting to just sit down right here and pull Sheppard down beside him and snuggle into his warmth-

Sheppard yanked him up. "Oh, no, no, no, no. C'mon buddy," he cajoled, propelling Rodney up the last few steps as he fished his keys out of his coat to open the apartment door.

"Oh god, finally." Rodney staggered into the living room and pitched face first onto the couch, half on half off, quite content to stay right there without moving for the rest of his life. Or until the need for coffee overpowered him sometime the next day.

Warm hands pulled off his jacket, his shoes, his socks. He tried to mumble thanks, but the hands didn't stop. They were insistent, trying to move him off the couch and get him upright again, and he didn't like them anymore.

"G'way," he mumbled, batting ineffectually at Sheppard. "M'fine. Leeme lone. Tired."

He heard John chuckle. "Rodney. You've gotta get up, buddy."

"Don wanna," he complained. He could feel sleep closing in on him, if Sheppard would just bugger off already...

"Come on, Rodney." Sheppard was unrelenting, working his hands underneath him, forcing him up in spite of his protests. "You sleep out here like this and your back is going to be crippled up in the morning. You really don't want that considering the spectacular hangover you're already going to be dealing with tomorrow."

McKay let out a frustrated groan, but he knew Sheppard was right. He allowed the other man to help him up and manoeuvre him through the chilly apartment toward his bedroom. He shivered, and suddenly found John's arm wrapped around his shoulders as he led him down the hall. Rodney slipped his arm around Sheppard's waist to get closer to the warmth and they stumbled awkwardly along, trying to match their gait and not careen into the walls.

When they finally came to a stop beside his bed, Sheppard made a bid to extricate himself from McKay's grasp, but Rodney turned his face into his chest and wrapped his other arm around him. Oh god, warm, and right, he'd forgotten how good John smelled. He tucked his head in right under the Sheppard's chin. "Mmmm," Rodney sighed in contentment. "Comfy."

Sheppard's voice sounded tight, and high, and there was a strange catch in his breathing. "Okay, buddy, you need to get into bed now."

McKay ignored him, quite content with being pressed chest to chest for the moment. "Bed's cold. You're warm."

"The bed will warm up if you just get in it," Sheppard insisted as he placed his hands on Rodney's shoulders, gently but firmly pushing to disengage him.

He tightened his arms, pulling the other man flush against him, and Sheppard made a sound that was something between a moan and a whimper. It took a few seconds for McKay to process that there was a hard bulge digging into his hip. When he reached down to explore, Sheppard tried to pull back, redoubling his efforts to shove him away. This only served to knock Rodney completely off balance, and he clutched to Sheppard like a life preserve.

Not surprisingly, the two of them tumbled sideways onto the bed, with McKay more or less sprawled over top of the Colonel. He took full advantage of the fact Sheppard was pinned beneath him to investigate the issue that had caused the problem in the first place. His questing fingers located the hard bulge, and he squeezed gently. Sheppard gasped, convulsing beneath him.

"Rodney!" he barked, his voice shaky. "Don't, just... stop it."

McKay was suddenly wide awake, fascinated by the way Sheppard's voice trembled, by the way he was squirming under his touch.

"John," he asked curious, confused and - hopeful. "Is this hard on for me?"

Sheppard covered his eyes with the hand that wasn't pinned under McKay. "Look. You're drunk and you need to sleep." He let his arm flop onto the mattress above his head and looked up at the ceiling. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

Rodney let out a snort. "Oh, I don't think so," he disagreed. "I know you." He squeezed John's cock again, eliciting another gasp. "You won't want to talk tomorrow. You'll totally avoid me for a week, probably two, and then you'll get me completely distracted every time I try to bring it up, and I don't _want_ to be distracted," he finished in a petulant tone. "Besides. You smell really good and you're really warm and wow. You have a hard on, for me!" McKay's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "Those sex shooters really work!"

"McKay, get off me." He sounded almost desperate now.

"Hmmm, I'm thinking... no," McKay replied. He let go of Sheppard's hard-on to slide his hand up under his tee-shirt, skin on skin, pushing the shirt up as his fingers followed the trail of hair up the centre of John's chest. Sheppard drew a shuddering breath when Rodney discovered a nipple and dragged a fingernail over it. He attempted to repeat the action, but Sheppard's hand was suddenly gripping his wrist, and he could feel the other man shaking, and ow, tight!

"Ow?" he verbalized, half complaint, half question.

"McKay, stop it now." Sheppard used his command voice, the one that usually cowed angry villagers with intent to harm. But McKay could hear the waver, in spite of the stern words.

"Fine," he acquiesced, "on one condition. You look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want this."

He felt the fingers around his wrist tighten painfully, and he hissed under the brutal grip. He looked over to find Sheppard staring back at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without making a sound.

McKay decided that was answer enough. He twisted his arm, and broke free of Sheppard's grip, dropping his hand back to his chest, his fingers describing slow, lazy circles over John's skin.

"I was watching this guy play pool tonight," he spoke matter-of-factly as he flicked the other nipple, causing Sheppard to twitch and moan. "I've always considered myself functionally straight, but then I saw his ass, and wow."

"Not really interested, McKay!" Sheppard growled, trying to wriggle out from under him.

Rodney shifted over, straddling his legs, stretching up to grab John's hands and pin him to the bed. "Shut up, you idiot, I have a point if you would just listen."

He ignored Sheppard's glare and continued. "I found him attractive, yeah. It was hot, and a turn on. And then Mitchell asked you to play, and all I could think of was you. Leaning over the table, stretched out, with your tee-shirt riding up, showing off the skin at the small of your back, your jeans riding low on your hips, and how your ass would look as you leaned over..."

McKay trailed off as he watched Sheppard's eyes go dark, pupils blown, panting lightly, tongue darting out to lick his lips. His throat went dry, and he could feel his heart racing as he slowly leaned forward and brought one hand to rest on the side of John's face, thumb sweeping across his lower lip. John opened his mouth and sucked his thumb in, tongue swirling around it. McKay's head fell back and he groaned as a jolt of pure molten lust shot through him. John's tongue on his *thumb*, and he was ready to come in his pants like a 16 year old.

"Oh fuck, oh god, _John_," he gasped, completely lost in the sensation, and suddenly his world was flipped topsy turvey as Sheppard bucked him off and he found himself pinned to the bed, staring up at a face that had suddenly become wicked and predatory by turns. He'd seen that look before; usually, there was a beautiful woman involved. It was disconcerting to see it directed at him, but things were starting to make more sense.

"You were watching me," he blurted. "Tonight. I thought that you didn't trust me, but that wasn't it at all, was it? You were _watching_ me. Just like _that_!"

"How was I watching you, Rodney?" Sheppard asked, his voice all velvet and smooth and low and dangerous. "Just like what?"

Rodney wiggled a hand free and poked Sheppard in the chest. "Like, like that! The way you're looking at me right now! Like, god, I don't know! Like you're going to - to EAT me!"

The words hung between them, and Rodney's eyes went wide as he realized the implications in what he'd just said. He stared at Sheppard, mouth hanging slightly open, waiting for a reaction. Slowly, John's lips curled up into a smile rife with all kinds of dark promise. "Yeah, I think you got that one figured out."

Sheppard wormed his way down McKay's body, pushing his shirt up to kiss his belly before moving farther south. Busy hands slipped over his skin, one sliding up under his shirt to tease a nipple, making him stutter and shake; another found his hip, fingers curling around to stroke his ass. Rodney made a noise that was surely *not* a squeak as he felt John mouth him through his pants, hot moist breath enveloping his dick through his jeans, and he arched off the bed with a strangled cry. Sheppard's laughter rumbled through him deep and intense, and the vibrations set him off like a rocket. For the first time in 25 years, he came in his pants, but he was far too relaxed to be mortified about this turn of events. All he could think was _omigod, hot, John!_ and then wow, lips on his, and kissing John was really hot, and he tasted as good as he smelled. Rodney could feel that hard length pressed up against his hip again and that was what started this all in the first place and it was time to _do_ something about that, if he could just wiggle his fingers down the front of John's jeans, because there was no way he could get those jeans unbuttoned in the state he was in right now...

 

****

He was vaguely aware that Sheppard was awake and speaking to him, but Rodney whimpered and clutched his head with both hands.

"Please kill me now," he begged as the jackboots kicked in with a lively polka in his brain. Oh god. Even thinking was too loud.

He felt the bed move as Sheppard arose, but he hardly noticed. McKay's current reality was composed of a symphony of pain; the sharp one behind his eye, the throb that seemed to occur right through his brain above and behind his ears and the overall drumbeat that felt like it could cause his head to explode right off his shoulders.

An eternity later, Sheppard was at his bedside talking to him again.

"C'mon, Rodney," he urged, trying to get him to sit up. "If you take a couple tylenol, you're going to feel a lot better."

He blinked a couple of times, rewarded with a view of a worried looking John Sheppard hovering beside him. When Sheppard saw his eyes were open, he smiled tentatively, but even in his state, Rodney could see it was forced. "Hey. How's your stomach? Can you drink a glass of water?"

"Yeah," he croaked, and awkwardly swung his legs out over the edge of the bed, moaning when the fresh wave of pain hit. Sheppard sat beside him and pressed two pills into one hand, then placed a glass of water in the other. He swallowed them down with the water, then handed it back to Sheppard before slumping back onto the bed. Being horizontal was definitely less painful.

He felt Sheppard lift his legs back onto the bed and tuck the blanket in around him, and he wanted to say something to him, but his head just hurt too much to even try to have any kind of conversation, so he pulled the cover up over his head and tried to think about not hurting so badly in hopes in would help.

Every so slowly, the magical properties of tylenol quieted the jackboots in his brain enough that he fell back asleep.

 

***

McKay opened his eyes, and craned his head over to look at the clock. 3pm!

Kicking off his blanket, he struggled to his feet, as his bladder was insistent it be dealt with before all other considerations. He made his way to the bathroom, and after taking care of pressing business, he peeled his clothes off and dropped them on the floor. Turning the shower as hot as he could stand, he grabbed his toothbrush and stepped in.

The water felt like heaven running over him, washing away the cobwebs. He started replaying his memories of the previous night, sorting them into some semblance of order as he scrubbed his teeth minty clean. He stopped, considering the way Sheppard had looked at him at the bar. Huh. Something about that was important. McKay rinsed his toothbrush under the spray as he gargled and spit, then tossed it over into the sink.

He rubbed shampoo in his hair as he thought about what happened between him and Sheppard last after they got back to his place. A heat that had nothing to do with the shower raced through him, and he felt himself growing hard as he remembered Sheppard's erection grinding up against his hip. His hand dropped to stroke his cock as he recalled Sheppard's hands on him, touching, caressing - oh god, it had been so very hot that he'd come in his _jeans_! A flush spread across his face and down his chest, but his erection didn't flag in the slightest, and he gave himself another firm stroke. He remembered kissing John, but *then* what had happened?

As Rodney stood there piecing it together, he came to the inescapable realization that he'd had one of the best orgasms of his life - and then promptly fallen asleep and left John hard and wanting. Just great.

His hard-on wilted a bit at the thought and he let it be, quickly finishing up his shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. He kicked his clothes into the corner, and opened to door to find Sheppard lounging against the wall outside the door.

"You're still here," he blurted out in surprise, then cursed himself as he saw John's face go blank. Before Sheppard could say anything, McKay spoke again. "I mean, I figured you probably left hours ago. Did you have to go in today?"

He saw Sheppard relax minutely as he shook his head. "I'm on stand down till we go back."

Rodney finally noticed the cup in his hand, the smell of coffee making his mouth water. "Is that for me?"

Sheppard extended the mug toward him and he gratefully snatched it up, cradling it in both hands as he lifted to his lips to take a sip. Mmmm, coffee. After a blissful moment of communing with the brew, he looked up to find Sheppard watching him warily. Then the aroma wafting down the hall from the kitchen reached him, and his head snapped up.

"Is that... do I smell actual *food*?"

"Well," Sheppard qualified, "it's toast and scrambled eggs. Nothing fancy. Do you think you can eat?"

McKay gave him a look before replying, "Yes," with the unspoken qualifier of _you moron_ clearly appended. He was about to take a step toward the dining room when he caught Sheppard staring, and his semi-hard erection suddenly shifted into fully-hard mode, tenting the towel wrapped precariously around his hips.

He felt a frisson of something rocket through him when Sheppard _licked his lips_ before looking up into his eyes. "Maybe I should, uh-" McKay began, pointing with his thumb toward the bedroom.

Sheppard swallowed. "Yeah," he choked out, eyes drifting back down Rodney's torso before he jerked his gaze back up to his face. "I'll just, you know, go wait over... there."

Neither one of them moved. Rodney held John's eyes as he reached out to place his coffee mug on the bathroom counter behind him.

"You know," he began conversationally as he took a step forward, "I remember everything."

Sheppard froze. McKay continued to advance on him, backing Sheppard into the wall before stepping right into his space. He placed a hand in the centre of John's chest, and felt the trembling start as he trailed his fingers back and forth until his hand stilled on his stomach. Rodney leaned in so his mouth was right next to Sheppard's ear.

"I was rather embarrassed to realize that after you made me come harder than I have in _years_, I fell asleep on you." He drew back to look in John's face. Sheppard's lips were parted and he was panting lightly, but his eyes were smoldering, and Rodney's breath caught in his throat at the open hunger he saw there. He slid his hand down to cup him, and John gasped, his head falling back against the wall, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. With far more grace than he expected, Rodney sank to his knees and made short work of the button fly before him.

"As I think I mentioned previously," he said as he eased jeans and boxers down over Sheppard's hips, "I've got a grasp on the fundamental dynamics of a blow job." He studied the hard cock in front of him, firm, and thick, not all that unlike his own. "Having been on the receiving end of a few, I think I can safely extrapolate as to what might work."

He placed one hand on Sheppard's hip to brace himself, then leaned in to lick the tip, dragging a low moan came from John. Emboldened by the reaction, he licked a stripe up from balls to crown, and Sheppard's cock twitched and bobbed before him. He curled his fingers around the base to hold it steady, then swooped in to suck John into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head before leaning in and sliding his lips as far down the shaft as he manage. As he bobbed his head, he realized that he found the velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of his mouth incredibly sensual, and he experimented with hollowing his cheeks to create more suction. Another low grown, accompanied by the shudders running through John's body, informed him he was on the right track.

For the next few minutes, he alternated slow, teasing sucks with hard suction, licking with nips and kisses, making sure he gave attention to the soft balls beneath. Judging by the litany of happy noises his actions were eliciting from John, he judged that his technique could be called a success. But, despite his own state of arousal, he couldn't help wondering about the 'traditional' method for consuming a blow job shooter, and considering the current activity, he thought this might be a good time to ask.

"So, I was wondering," he asked as he slowly stroked the cock before him, giving his jaw a break and allowing him a chance to voice his question. "Is there a blow job protocol of which I am unaware?"

Sheppard seemed to be having trouble tracking, which was rather flattering. "What?"

"Well, this whole hands behind your back thing," Rodney explained. "What is that all about?"

"I really have no idea," John responded, confusion evident in his voice. "It's just the way I've always seen blow job shooters done."

Rodney sucked him in deep for a moment, getting him good and wet, then went back to slow pulls with his hand as he pursued the subject. "Does that mean most men want to have the person giving them a blow job do it with no hands? Seems kind of difficult chasing around after a penis that's bobbing around in front of you - makes a lot more sense to just be able to grasp it firmly and suck it down."

"Jesus, Rodney! I don't know! Maybe it's just a drink thing! Do we have to talk about this right now?"

Rodney shrugged. "What better time? Beside, these drink things come from somewhere. Someone thought them up, usually because they are trying to say something with the drink thing they are too shy or nervous to say in person when they are having sex. So they use alcohol to say it because, hey! Liquid courage has been helping men say stupid things for centuries!"

Sheppard let out a huff of frustration. "And maybe you're just over analyzing everything, did you ever think of that?"

"Yes. And I'm totally not. Seriously, think about it. It's every 15 year old boy's wet dream to have someone give them a blow job. But to have someone, oh, say *tied up* while giving them the said blow job - wet dream material for a year."

There was a strangled noise, and Rodney looked up, concerned.

"John?"

"Jesus!" Sheppard gasped, breathing hard. "Fuck, _Rodney_!"

McKay had an epiphany moment. "Oh my god - that turns you on. That totally _turns you on_!"

"Y'know," John's voice was defensive, "it's really *not* that unusual of a fantasy-"

"Oh, you complete moron, stop being an idiot! I know that."

McKay repositioned himself so that he was kneeling closer, with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Okay, you're going to have to do the driving here, because I'll have absolutely no control at all..."

John's face took on the predatory gleam he recalled seeing last night after he'd pounced, and McKay realized that Sheppard liked this a lot more than he was letting on. Warm hands slid over his cheeks and John used his thumbs to ease Rodney's mouth open.

"It's okay to push me away, you know, if it's too much," Sheppard tried to caution him, but McKay could see that John was so turned on by the idea of fucking his mouth, he could barely see straight. What he hadn't expected was that it would be a turn on for him as well - not so much because he was giving John the control, but because John was so worked up. *That* was a huge turn on.

Then John was rocking forward, his cock gliding over Rodney's tongue, John tipping his head back, gently digging his thumbs in to his cheeks to force his jaw a little bit wider, going a little bit deeper and it was really hot, unbelievably hot. And all he could do is sit on his knees and take it, he couldn't even touch himself, or rub up against John. He moaned around the cock filling his mouth, and suddenly John's hips stuttered forward once, twice, and Rodney struggled to suppress his gag reflex as John came hard down his throat, the sound he was making was pure pornography, and McKay was astonished to find himself coming from that combination alone.

"Fuck me," he muttered as the two of them slumped in a heap against the wall, amazed that he'd had a second, utterly mind blowing orgasm in less than 24 hours.

"Maybe later," Sheppard quipped weakly, and he elbowed him.

"Fuck you."

"That would work, too. I'm easy."

 

~


End file.
